Page 138 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Ninety-Three

Elyse

D ays at the library proved ought for little. Hours spent searching, making Wynn sit around, only to find one book. At least it was the one Sylas said to prioritize.

Frustrated, Elyse looked forward to another day of combing the library shelves, but Wynn sent her a message, waking her while she slept.

“ Don’t leave your room—danger happening. Will get you when safe .”

An ominous warning, as if hearing someone’s voice in your head wasn’t unsettling enough. To be woken by it startled her so much she couldn’t go back to sleep. That was hours ago.

Elyse sat with a mug of tea at her desk, fighting off her late afternoon sleepiness as she read Fulbryk’s Guide to Chorys Dasi , trying not to think of Azarys—she failed miserably.

Fulbryk described how Chorys Dasi sat on the shores of the Bay of Black in The Mavros Sea, its waters an unsurprising black, but what was surprising was the sand was as well.

Pirates populated the waters of the region, excelling at breaking the ice in the winter and plundering cargo transported between Chorys Dasi and Reyila.

Elyse imagined the dark sand beneath her feet, of Azarys at her arm, the salty breeze blowing through her hair.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Such fantasies were unnecessary. Az lied, and she never learned of his reasoning.

Blank pages filled the center of the book, flanked on either side by chapters. The first half covered geography; the second discussed their histories. One chapter dug into the fabled Bull of the North, who slaughtered more pirates than any other military member.

She shook the thought from her head, pondering over the blank pages.

Elyse inspected them again, eyes scanning as she held them up to the light.

And then she saw it. Tucked into the binding’s inner crease in tight scrawling letters were the words, “ Histories sealed by blood, the secrets our kind keep .”

The words reminded Elyse of her mother’s song, the one that Az and Sylas knew. Fulbryk didn’t mean actual blood, did he? The blood from her elven heritage?

No, that’s absurd. Magic didn’t work that way.

Yet Elyse also learned something new about its possibilities every day. If she could use magic to enhance her senses, as Wynn suggested, then how likely was it that blood could also be magical?

With anticipation growing in her chest, she ran to her room, pulling a needle from her sewing kit. As she sat back down at her desk, Elyse pricked her finger and watched the blood fall to the page.

Nothing.

A stupid attempt, but at least—

The page absorbed the blood, spreading it across in bright red lettering. Breathless, she flipped through the pages that now contained odd portraits and names and titles. Her heart ceased when she reached the last page. No—no, no, no. This was wrong.

She found his picture first. His nose was straighter, his cheekbones sharper, but she knew it was him, even with two large horns protruding from his temples, circling the shaved parts of his hairline.

Underneath was scrawled, “ Azarys Vynz, Prince of Chorys Dasi, Twin Brother to the Queen, Beastial Domain .”

Elyse blinked, touching the page to make sure what she saw was real. Flanking the portrait were two more of the same size. A female with an uncanny face to Az held a smirk, horns rising straight up from her forehead. “ Agnyssa Vynz, Queen of Chorys Dasi, Beastial Domain. ”

The farthest right was a male, similar to the other two, but with a smaller nose, a delicate chin. Horns circled his head like Azarys’s. “ Auryon Vynz, Prince of Chorys Dasi, Younger Brother to the Queen, Beastial Domain. ”

Below were more sketches, smaller and less detailed, showing sharp-cheeked elves with tails, cat ears, feathered wings—beast-like features of all kinds.

Elyse couldn’t breathe, couldn’t register what she saw. Az was…. Her legs wobbled as she rose, unsure what to do, who to tell. Wynn said to stay in the room, but that book—

The door to Elyse’s suite slammed open. She pressed herself against her back wall, gripping at aithyr for defense, letting it fill her. Upon hearing their voices, she collapsed to her knees.

“You’re wasting your time.” Oh, gods, was that her father?

“Elyse is never a waste of time, Gyrsh.” Her heart stopped—that was Az. And he was… Elyse’s stomach lurched as she searched the room for a spot to hide.

“Stay focused. The goal is to grab Elyse and get out of the palace.” Gods, no. Sylas, too?

They were in her suite; they were there to take her. After Wynn’s warning that morning, oh, gods—

Elyse took a calming breath, forcing her mind to calm.

She saw the wooden case Sylas had given her.

Scrambling forward, she fumbled with the latches.

With trembling hands, she grabbed the amber-colored liquid of Mage’s Eye and yanked out the cork stopper, taking a swig.

The drug took effect, streams of translucent white materializing as they swirled around her body.

Calmness washed over her as she pulled in the nearest tendril, the aithyr seemingly eager to enter her body.

Elyse imagined herself as the wall, as the floor. She wanted to become her surroundings—they couldn’t find her. When she looked down at herself, she became exactly that. Her body was invisible, the magic coating her in a thin, comforting layer of cold.

“We should focus on rescuing Valeriya,” her father snapped.

The Queen? She missed something with Wynn’s warning.

She heard rustling in the other room. “I’ll check her bedroom,” Sylas said, his voice fading.

“For the last time, Valeriya’s a lost cause. They have her down in the dungeon, questioning her as we speak.” Azarys walked into the study and her heart stopped at the sight of him. I love you, Elyse .

Gone were his flowy shirts and decorative pants—he wore the outfit of a Satiroan guard, the leathers looking as if they fit his body better. “With half the guard in the city looking for the clip, this is our only chance to get Elyse.” He looked out into the main living area of her suite, glowering.

As he turned to move toward her desk, Elyse took her chance. She needed to leave. She needed to find Wynn. Or Wyltam. Or Keyain.

Anyone.

Gods, Az was a prince—a beastly prince with horns. How did no one know?

Azarys cursed, leaning over her desk as she reached the doorway. “She knows.”

Elyse darted out, finding her father standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the table as Sylas appeared from her bedroom.

“Knows what?” her father asked.

She inched along the wall, her hold on aithyr strong, careful not to stumble on her unseen feet.

“My position—our kind. Fuck,” Azarys swore, “the blood’s fresh.”

There was a pause, Elyse almost to the door. She just needed to reach it, and then she could lose them in the castle halls.

“Her tea and seat are warm.” Azarys appeared in the doorway. “Goddess, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Elyse stumbled at his address, not expecting him to guess that.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her father said. “Elyse isn’t capable of that magic.”

“Yes, she is,” Sylas said, fear lining his features. His gaze met hers, realization brief on his expression before he turned to Azarys. “But I can’t sense her.”

Azarys walked into the room, looking around, as her hand landed on the doorknob. She pulled, but a gust of wind from Azarys slammed it shut. “There you are.”

Faster than she thought possible, Azarys sprinted at her as she ripped open the door, flooding aithyr into her strength to beat his wind as it whipped past her again. The shifting of focus dropped her invisibility, and she ran into the hallway.

Elyse made it three steps when his arms wrapped around her waist, stopping her even as she flooded herself with aithyr. Azarys grunted with effort before his teeth met her neck, her body going limp as he bit. Confused, she realized it was where he bruised her during sex.

“Goddess,” he murmured, brushing back her hair with a hand. “I know you’re scared, but I’m here. I’m taking you with me to Chorys Dasi.”

The sensation wore off, but Elyse pretended to remain limp as Azarys’s grip loosened. Behind her, she heard Sylas and Gyrsh yelling from the other room.

She blocked out everything—her panicked breathing, the yelling voices, Azarys’s grip on her—and gave herself to aithyr. The energy flooded her, eager and searching every inch of her body, and then she grabbed ahold of it, thrusting it out as a concentrated gust of wind directed at Azarys.

He flew backward into the wall with a crunch. Elyse turned, watching as he slumped down, unmoving against the cracked wood paneling. She covered her cry with her hand.

Sylas appeared in the doorway, staring from Elyse to the unconscious Azarys. He stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. Flames appeared in his hand, melting the handle. He turned to her. “Run.”

Elyse shook, staring at Sylas as he bent over the unmoving Azarys. He looked up, his eyes wide with fear. “Elyse, you need to run. Hide,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder as her father began pounding on the door.

A second later, the door flew out, hitting the wall across from it. Her father appeared in the doorway, face laced with fury. “You stupid bitch,” he hissed, eyes burning on Elyse.

And she ran.

Her legs carried her down the hall, her father close behind.

Trails of aithyr flowed around her, appearing and disappearing into the walls and floor.

Some seemed to follow her as she ran. Her father was faster than she realized, unable to lose him, even as she darted down the stairs to the first floor.

Not a person was in sight—no guards, no nobles. Gods, what the hells was going on?

Elyse ran through the doors leading to the courtyard, her father snagging her shirt, but she shot lightning at him from her hands as she ran.

Though her breath heaved, she forced herself to calm as she stepped into the garden path.

When she reached out to the aithyr, it answered as if to say, “ Here, come here, it’s safe.

” She followed the pulling tendril, running off the path and into a dense section of lilacs.

A branch caught her shirt, feeling the fabric tear as she ripped herself free.

Elyse arrived in a small clearing at the center of the bushes, revealing a massive statue of a canine creature.

Its body was made from stone, carved to look like twisting vines, sitting on its haunches and poised as if it would attack.

Two large, thorny antlers protruded from its head, ending in elongated spikes.

Elyse listened to its calling, watching the aithyr swirl around the beast. Tentatively, she brushed her hand over the stone. Was it alive? It felt alive.

Her father swore, his footsteps carrying through the gardens away from Elyse. She took a shallow breath, her hand grazing the beast’s side. Had it helped her? The stone remained unmoving with her touch. It was just a statue—and aithyr was just energy.

Elyse forced a breath, knowing she had to find someone. Azarys and Sylas couldn’t have made it far if Azarys remained unconscious—if he wasn’t dead.

Gods, what if she killed him? She pulled her thoughts back with a smack to her forehead. The King needed to know and he needed to know immediately. Elyse knew where to go.

Elyse took off down the path, pulling aithyr into her as she ran, her body becoming invisible once more. If she focused, her plan could work.

Never in her life had she seen the palace so empty—no one, not even guards, walked the grounds. Nervousness bubbled in her gut as she approached the library doors. It was the first time she hadn’t seen soldiers posted outside.

Pushing past the entrance, she sprinted towards the King’s office. Rows upon rows of books flew by, her eyes scanning the rows for anyone.

When she arrived, the door to the King’s office was open. Inside, her father stood, panting. The room should have alerted Wyltam when her father entered, but he didn’t come.

With invisibility still cloaking her, Elyse stood in the doorway, considering her options. She could run and find somewhere to hide, or she could face her father and call for Wyltam. The King would come if she screamed his name.

Elyse was not soft.

She was not weak.

And she was exactly like her mother.

She crossed the threshold and dropped her invisibility. “Hello, father.”